


stay vicious

by sylwrites



Series: break free and run [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/M, Fluff, House Parties, really just candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Bughead College AU, the final part of a series.Veronica and Betty go to a party, and this time it's Betty who runs out early.





	stay vicious

_ Now I've had the saints and patience, and I wait on the telephone _

_ I have pills for this, and tabs for that, and something that used to resemble a soul _

_ So won't anybody take my hand? And won't anybody ease my ache? _

  
  


It takes all of fifteen minutes for Betty to realize that she’s made a huge mistake.

 

She’s standing in the kitchen of a fraternity house, filling a red plastic cup with water from the tap, wishing she hadn’t let Veronica talk her into coming to this party. Veronica had two friends visiting from New York, staying on an air mattress in their apartment, and she’d somehow gotten the four of them an invite to a frat party from a guy in her English class. Betty had originally opted out, figuring she’d just wait around until Jughead was off work and then go hang out with him, but she’d been ambushed by Veronica, Midge, and Nancy. 

 

Veronica, as it turned out, did not take no for an answer. 

 

The three girls had raided her closet, picking a dark blue skirt with a scalloped hem. Apparently, none of Betty's shirts had been worthy, so along with the skirt she was also wearing one of Veronica’s tops. It was long sleeved but cropped to the waist, and between it and the length of her skirt Betty was feeling a little uncomfortable with the amount of skin she was showing. The girls had informed her that she “looked hot”, but Betty wasn't too sure. 

 

Still, ever the people pleaser, she'd ultimately agreed to go. She could be fun too, and enjoy a night out with the girls. But from the minute she’d walked through the doors, trailing Veronica, Betty hadn’t felt comfortable. She wasn’t used to being around people who were drinking - her parents had kept a pretty strict household - and the crowd of drunk college students was a bit much. But Betty was a  _ Cooper.  _ She could grin and bear it. So despite being separated from the girls almost instantly, Betty decided she’d make the best of it.

 

Someone took her coat, and she accepted the cup of keg beer that was pushed into her hand. Betty then spent ten minutes talking to a girl she recognized from her history class before realizing that the girl was both a) not at all the girl from her history class, and b) incredibly high for their entire conversation. After excusing herself politely, Betty slipped into the kitchen.

 

That’s how she finds herself here, pouring her untouched beer down the sink and replacing it with water. She takes a sip and then sets it on the counter, wondering how how long she has to stay here to be polite before she can leave.

 

“Hey Breanne,” a voice says from over her shoulder. Betty turns around. “Have you seen--oh. Sorry. You’re not Breanne.”

 

Betty shakes her head at the guy that’s entered the kitchen. He’s tall and muscular, with an easy grin that Betty recognizes. It’s the smile of a guy who’s attractive and knows it, someone who’s never heard the word ‘no’ in his life. Still, she smiles politely. “No, sorry. Not Breanne. I just got here, but maybe I’ve seen her. What does she look like?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” the guy dismisses, leaning against the kitchen island beside Betty. “You're here now.” He sweeps his eyes across her body blatantly.

 

Betty raises her eyebrows. She has to give him credit - he's not even trying to pretend that that look was for anything other than to check her out. “You don't even know my name.”

 

“You don't know mine, either.” The guy reaches over and touches Betty's hand, rubbing his thumb over her wrist. “But I know it'll be really fun getting to know each other.”

 

Betty slips her wrist away from his grasp as casually as possible. “I think I'm going to go find my friends,” she informs him, grabbing her water cup.

 

She takes a step, only to find that her path to the door is suddenly blocked. “Come on, babe,” the guy says, suddenly seeming a lot more imposing than he had a minute earlier. Betty realizes it's because he seems to have lost any concept of personal space, having stepped right against her. She's not even sure how it happens, but the next thing she knows, she's got her back flush to the counter and his arms are on either side of her. She can smell beer on his breath, mixing with the scent of drugstore cologne. 

 

“Can you please move back?” Betty asks with a biting tone, channeling her mother as much as possible. “I said I wanted to find my friends.”

 

The guy chuckles and grabs her waist with one strong hand. “I'll be your friend tonight.” He slides it down her side and then around her back, grabbing her ass with enough force that Betty actually yelps. “Damn girl,” he grins, his hand dropping in search of the hem of her skirt. 

 

“Stop it!” Betty pushes against him and twists to the side, managing to slip out from between his arms. She slaps him across the face instinctively, her hand stinging with the force. She's pretty sure a string of expletives leaves her mouth as she does so, but her brain has gone a little white at the sheer audacity of this asshole, so she's fuzzy on the details.

 

It's at this point that Betty decides she's officially had enough of this party. She pushes her way back into the main living room and can't see Veronica, Midge, or Nancy anywhere. The door from the kitchen swings open again, and the asshole appears. She decides just to cut her losses and ducks further into the crowd, weaving her way to the front door. 

 

It's not until Betty's outside and two blocks away does she realize that she's left her jacket inside. The adrenaline of her anger is wearing off a little, and the sharp mid-November breeze is like a whip against her bare legs. Betty sends a text to Veronica, informing her that she's left the party,  **_don't worry about me,_ ** and just after it sends her cell phone dies. 

 

_ Perfect.  _ The night could not possibly get any better. Not only did she get dragged to a party she didn't want to go to in the first place and get accosted by a jerk, but she'd planned on taking a cab back home with the other girls that Veronica had insisted on paying for, so she also had no money. The walk home would be at least forty-five minutes, Betty realizes. She mentally berates herself for being ill prepared - for not bringing more money, and making sure her cell phone was charged, but  _ mostly,  _ for not following her instincts and sitting out this damn thing to begin with. That's what Jughead would have done. It was impossible to make him do anything that he--

 

_ Jughead.  _ Of course. 

 

The walk to her apartment may be forty-five minutes, but the walk to Jughead’s work was thirty, flat.  _ Or,  _ Betty realizes, she could go straight to his and FP’s apartment, which was probably only twenty minutes from Betty's current location. Her phone is dead, but they'd gotten to the party around 10:00, so she figures that by now it has to be nearing 10:30. By the time she gets to his work, he might be gone already, so it's probably easiest just to go straight to his place. He'd be able to lend her some cash to get a cab back to her apartment.

 

Betty wraps her arms around herself, her useless cell phone clutched in her hand. Ducking her head against the wind, Betty reaches the end of a block and turns left. It isn't going to be a pleasant walk in her stupid party outfit, what with the short skirt and impractical heeled ankle boots, but at this point Betty will take twenty minutes’ walk over forty-five.

 

The walk is mostly residential once she's past Greek Row, through apartment blocks and other areas that are mostly filled with students. It's Friday night so it isn't that quiet outside yet, but Betty finds a strange peacefulness in the monotony of it all. Cheering noise from an open window, parking lot, apartment building. Rinse, repeat. At some point she takes a wrong turn, which adds an excruciating three or so minutes onto her time when she has to double back. 

 

Betty finally gets to Jughead's building about twenty five minutes later. The giant digital sign in the parking lot of a nearby strip mall alternates ads for the mall with the time and weather, so Betty knows she still has about ten minutes to kill before Jughead will show up at home. 

 

She sits down on the cold concrete step outside to wait, folding her knees and arms into a haphazard box. Betty tucks her forehead into the opening left by her elbows in a vain attempt to capture some of the heat trapped inside. Unfortunately, it's November and it's cold, so any warmth she gets is negated by the wind biting at her calves and running up the back of her top to dance against her spine.

 

“Betty?”

 

She isn't sure exactly how long she’s been waiting, but when Betty hears Jughead’s voice her head snaps up immediately. “Hi Jug,” she says, teeth chattering. 

 

Concern swirls in his eyes, his brow furrowed below his familiar beanie. “Hey,” Jughead says slowly. “What are you doing here?” 

 

Betty rubs her forearms. “It's sort of a long story. I don't have any money on me. Can I borrow some cash for a cab home? I can pay you back Monday.”

 

Jughead offers his hand to pull her to her feet, which she gratefully accepts. “Of course, but--” He doesn't let go once she's standing, instead covering her hand in both of his. “You're freezing, Betty. Come inside first.” He's peering at her worriedly and immediately slips his lined denim jacket off. He drops it on her shoulders, and Betty is unable to hide the expression of relief she feels at the sudden warmth. Plus, it smells like Jughead, which gives her an extra bit of comfort.

 

He keeps an arm around her once inside the building and Betty leans into him for the short elevator ride up. “Thanks,” she mumbles into his collar bone. 

 

“What happened?” Jughead asks softly, rubbing her back gently. “I thought you were out with Veronica and her friends tonight.”

 

Betty lets out a dry, empty laugh. “Yeah.” She sighs, shaky and uneven. “We got separated at the party basically immediately. Then before I could find them some dude cornered me in the kitchen and grabbed me. I panicked and bolted, but my phone died and I left my jacket there and home was so far away. So here I am, pathetic and--”

 

“What do you mean, grabbed you?” Jughead interrupts, having turned his head sharply toward her as she spoke.

 

Betty's face grows warm with shame, even though she knows objectively that none of this is her fault. She speaks to her hands anyway, the elevator dinging to signify their arrival on Jughead's floor. “He tried to hit on me, but when I basically said I wasn't interested he didn't really care. He grabbed my ass and tried to stick his hand under my skirt, so I hit him and took off.” 

 

Jughead had been fiddling with his keys, finding the right one, but he stops in his tracks at her words. “Jesus Christ,” he swears, dropping them on the floor. “Fuck that asshole. I should go over there and beat the shit out of him. Are you okay?” He pulls Betty toward him and sets his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching hers.

 

Betty opens her mouth to dismiss his concerns but feels tears suddenly stinging at her eyes. She closes her mouth and blinks hard to set them at bay, but in a second he’s hugging her anyway, clutching onto her. Betty is surprised at the new tension in Jughead's arms, and after a few moments she clears her throat. 

 

“I'm fine,” she assures him, tangling her fingers in the curls at the base of his head, the ones that have escaped his beanie. “I'm just cold, and want to forget tonight ever happened.” She still sees fire in his eyes, so Betty kisses his cheek gently. “I promise.”

 

Jughead hesitates, but ultimately nods at Betty. He grabs his keys from the floor and opens his apartment door. His dad is sitting on the couch when the two of them walk in, but Jughead just keeps an arm around her, head down, and guides her to his bedroom wordlessly. FP’s eyes follow them curiously, but Betty imagines it might be obvious that something is wrong, because he doesn't speak. 

 

Betty sits down on Jughead’s bed as soon as the door is closed. She leans down and unzips her ankle boots, kicking them off. Jughead goes to his dresser and pulls out a pair of his sweatpants, offering them to her. “Here, put these on. And some socks,” he adds, tossing a pair of hiking socks on the bed. “There’s a bunch of sweaters and hoodies in the second drawer, pick whatever you want. You can charge your phone too, here.” Jughead grabs his charging cord form where it’s fallen next to his bedside table and hands the end to Betty. “I’ll just be outside the door.” 

 

“Thanks,” Betty says softly, smiling at Jughead as he slips through the door and closes it behind himself. She plugs her dead phone in and turns it on, immediately receiving two messages from Veronica.

 

**_Where are you??_ ** followed by  **_B if you’re dead I’m going to kill you_ ** .

 

She replies with a quick,  **_at Jughead’s_ ** , then adds, **_If you’re still at the party can you please grab my coat when you leave?_ **

 

Veronica’s response chimes back almost instantly.  **_Ohhh ;) ;) ;)_ **

 

Betty rolls her eyes and sets the phone down. She unzips her skirt and pulls on the sweatpants Jughead had set out for her. They’re a little baggy on her but not overly; after all, Jughead is pretty slim. She tugs the socks on next and then retrieves an old zippered hoodie from the dresser to wear over top of Veronica’s crop top. The hoodie is a dusky green colour, soft from years of wear, and like the denim jacket it smells like Jughead.

 

Betty opens his bedroom door. Jughead is leaning against the wall in the hallway, head turned toward the living room where his dad is watching football. He glances over as the door opens and offers a smile. “Done?”

 

She nods and sits back down on his bed. Jughead returns to his bedroom and closes the door, then sits beside her. 

 

“You hungry or anything?”

 

“No thanks.” Betty grabs one of his hands and starts playing with his fingers. They're long and slender. Lanky, like him. She glances up at his face. He's watching her hands tug at his, his expression a mix of intense and curious. She bites her lip. All she really wants right now is to cuddle up with a blanket, a movie, and Jughead. “Wanna watch a movie?” she asks. 

 

“Uh - yeah! Sure.” Jughead reaches over and grabs his laptop, opening it up. “What kind of movie?”

 

“Doesn't matter,” she responds, because it really doesn't. All that matters is that once he sets one to play, Jughead props himself up against his headboard and Betty gets to prop herself up against Jughead. He's warm and familiar and he feels like home. 

 

It's all she's wanted all night.

 

Betty’s arm wraps around Jughead’s abdomen, fingers settling on his side. As her cheek presses against his wrinkled t-shirt, his fingers loosen her ponytail and begin to card through her hair. She sighs, hearing the contentment in her own voice, and can't even bring herself to be embarrassed at how obvious she is.

 

“You okay?” he asks, his voice a bit more throaty than usual. 

 

Betty tightens her grip on his waist, his t-shirt stretching into her fist. “Never better,” she says, and she means it. 

 

\--

 

The muted sound of water running is what initially stirs Betty from her sleep the next morning, but she actually wakes slowly.

 

The noisy shower may be the first thing to hit her senses, but the intense warmth that surrounds her quickly overwhelms them. Betty opens one eye and sees the lightly olive-toned skin of somebody’s neck and collarbone, and the previous night comes flooding back. The party, the guy in the kitchen, the walk back.

 

_ Jughead. _

 

Betty doesn’t remember the movie ending, and she doesn't remember falling asleep, but she knows instantly that the person wrapped around her is Jughead. They've both lost their hoodies, it seemed, so Betty is as flush to Jughead as she'd ever been. One of his arms is wrapped around her back, hand hot against the bare skin of her waist that is exposed by Veronica’s cropped top.  The other arm is tucked around her other side, his fingers tangled in her hair. Betty shifts ever so slightly and locates her leg, trapped between his. 

 

A kiss is pressed to her forehead, and his voice cuts the silence. “Hi sleepyhead.”

 

Betty responds with a groan and burrows her face between his neck and the pillow. “S’early,” she mumbles. 

 

He chuckles, and the hand on her waist starts scratching lightly. “It's almost ten.”

 

“I'm never moving from here,” Betty informs the pillow, voice somewhat muffled. “Ever.” This is followed by more scratching, and his hand hits a particularly itchy spot. Betty moans and arches her back slightly, twisting so he'll reach even more. “Oh god, Juggie, that feels amazing.”

 

His nails spread to the other side of her back. “I'm glad,” he mutters. 

 

Betty feels him swallow and smiles into his neck. She lifts a hand to his shoulder and presses gently against him, sliding back ever so slightly so she can see his face. His eyes are stormy as always, but beautifully so, and there's a hint of light in the corners that isn't always there. Her fingers drift to his cheek and then to his mouth, those eyes following hers the entire time. 

 

“You're so pretty,” she says suddenly, then immediately blushes.  _ What the hell was that?  _

 

Jughead's eyebrows raise and the corner of his mouth quirks into an amused half-smile. “Pretty?”

 

“Handsome,” Betty corrects hurriedly, pressing her palm to her forehead. “I meant handsome. I only said pretty because - I don't know. Ignore me. Forget I said anything.” Betty screws her eyes shut in embarrassment.  _ God.  _ She is never going to live this down. 

 

“Betty.” Jughead pulls her hand off her face. “Look at me.”

 

She opens her eyes reluctantly. “What?”

 

“I appreciate the compliment. And the delivery - it was very cute.” He smiles at her, a rare wide Jughead grin. “But if someone here is pretty, it's you, Betts.”

 

Betty's cheeks heat up again, but this time it's not out of embarrassment. She bites her lower lip and lets out an uncharacteristic nervous giggle. “Juggie that was so…cheesy,” she teases, her hand now back on his cheek. “And sweet.” She pushes his hair off his forehead, the beanie long forgotten on the bedside table. “You're always so good to me,” she adds softly. 

 

His eyes meet hers for a moment, then he leans in and his lips are on hers. Betty responds immediately, her stomach dancing with butterflies, her brain hazy and distracted. He trails kisses slowly across her face and down her neck, hands exploring politely. Betty stretches her head to the side to give him better access, her hands racing across his back, and accidentally lets out a high-pitched squeak when Jughead sucks on her pulse point. 

 

All of a sudden there is a loud thump on the outside of Jughead's door. They break their kiss and sink further into the mattress, Betty hiding her smile in Jughead's shoulder. Near her ear, Jughead's somewhat breathless voice hollers,  _ “What,  _ Dad?!”

 

“Sorry, kids,” FP replies. Betty can hear the embarrassment in his voice as plain as day - the apple didn't fall far from the tree. “I don't mean to - uh - I thought you should know, these walls aren't that thick. Just in case.”

 

“Oh my god,” Jughead mutters into Betty's hair. “Okay, Dad!” he replies, then rolls away from her and up to a seated position. 

 

Betty peers up at him somewhat nervously. He's staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and instantly her brain fills in the blanks. Clearly, he's regretting the mistake he just made, and is trying to think of a polite way to let her down. Sweet Jughead, who has always taken care of her, who has always held her hand. He deserved someone without so many problems, someone whose darkness was more of a brief shadow than a sinking black hole. 

 

She decides to make it easy on him. “Sorry,” Betty tells him, sitting up and swinging her legs to the edge of the bed. She fidgets with the hem of her borrowed pants, then feels the familiar berth of her nails in the scars on her palms. “I can be gone in a minute. You don't have to say anything. Just let me give you back these-”

 

“Betty, stop.” Jughead grabs her hands and forcibly uncurls her fingers. “Look at me.”

 

She obeys, her chest still constricted. 

 

“Take a deep breath with me. Come on.” He looks encouragingly at her and squeezes her hands. Betty obeys, breathing slowly, and feels herself gradually calming down. Jughead always knew what to do, how to make her feel better. She didn't deserve him.

 

But god, she  _ wanted  _ him.

 

She hadn't been lying; he  _ was  _ pretty. Or hot, to use a slightly less gendered term. She'd even say handsome, especially in a dark, brooding sort of way. Technically, he was gorgeous: high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes like crystal. And now she knows that he’s a damn good kisser, too. 

 

She’s so far gone that there isn't even a point in pretending anymore. 

 

So when Jughead finally squeezes her hands again and asks, “You good?” the only way Betty can respond is with a kiss. 

 

She catches him off guard, and for half a second Betty is terrified that she made the wrong call. But then his arms slip around her waist and he kisses her back, soft and sweet. 

 

“I'm that irresistible, huh?” Jughead teases, flashing a cheeky grin at her when they pull apart. 

 

Betty blushes. “Yeah well like I said, you're pretty.”

 

“Mm. I'm planning to coast through life on my looks, so that should definitely help.”

 

“Anytime.” Betty pulls absentmindedly at the fabric of her borrowed sweatpants. “Um. I should probably get back to my apartment. I think Veronica had some elaborate lunch plans for while the girls are in town.”

 

Jughead groans in exaggerated disappointment and flops down on the bed. “But Bet _ ty,  _ what about us?”

 

Betty rolls her eyes. She knows he's joking, but a small part of her does feel bad leaving. She always tries to help out with cooking for the Joneses when she can, since she assumes FP isn't great around the kitchen and she knows for a fact that Jughead definitely isn't. She could always whip up some eggs while she's here, she supposes, that way--

 

“Don't even think about it, Betts,” Jughead says, interrupting her thoughts. “Dad and I can fend for ourselves, I promise. Here, get dressed and I'll grab the keys to my dad's truck so I can take you home.”

 

“There would be amazing, thank you.” Betty's eyes follow him gratefully until he leaves, then she hops up and quickly slips his sweatpants off. She tugs yesterday's skirt back on and grabs the hoodie she'd been wearing the previous night, shrugging it on over top of her clothes. Then she opens the bedroom door, figuring that despite her embarrassment now is as good a time as any to face FP after he'd obviously heard them making out earlier. 

 

FP is sitting in the living room across from Jughead, who looks vaguely mortified for a reason Betty is sure she doesn't want to know. He's nursing a coffee, but looks up when Betty appears. “Morning, Betty.”

 

Her breeding kicks in despite her embarrassment. “Good morning, Mr. Jones!”

 

Jughead stands up. “I'm gonna borrow the truck to drive Betty home, Dad. I'll get bagels or something on the way home.” He's across the living room and at Betty's side in a few strides, one hand dropping to her lower back in an obvious attempt to hurry them out. He grabs the keys by the door and Betty barely has time to rush out a polite “Goodbye!” before he has them in the hallway. 

 

Jughead marches over to the elevator and presses the down button repeatedly. The back of his neck is red, peeking out from under his beanie.

 

“Is everything okay, Juggie?” Betty asks, placing a concerned hand on his forearm.

 

The elevator arrives and they enter. Once the door closes, Jughead drops his forehead to his hands in an exaggerated fashion. “I just had the worst conversation with my dad  _ ever.” _

 

Betty freezes. In the back of her mind, a million scenarios are already off and running. The most likely probably involved her mother - she knew that Alice and FP had known each other when they were younger, and she wouldn't be surprised if her mother had somehow rubbed him the wrong way. It was kinda her style. What if FP didn't approve of Betty because she was a Cooper?

 

“Is - was he mad?” she asks, consciously fighting to keep her hands flat against her skirt. “About me.”

 

Jughead looks up at her, confused for a moment, then barks out a short laugh and pulls Betty toward him. “What?! No,  _ no,  _ Betts. My dad adores you. Like - he definitely likes you more than me. It has nothing to do with that.” He kisses her head, and when they reach the ground floor he leads her out with an arm tucked securely around her shoulder.

 

“Then what?” Betty asks, looking up at him with mild concern as they cross the parking lot. 

 

Jughead shakes his head and motions toward the truck a short distance away. When they reach FP’s old pickup, Jughead opens the passenger door for Betty. She hops up, but Jughead still stands in the opening, one arm on the window. “First, he wanted to give me sex tips.”

 

Betty's hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

 

“Yeah.” Jughead looks horrified. “Then he suggested we should just keep one stash of condoms in the apartment instead of two - y’know, for  _ efficiency.”  _ He makes a face. “And he was serious. Betty. I have spent my entire life avoiding discussing anything remotely close to this with my dad. It was terrible.”

 

Betty can't help it; even though Jughead is clearly miserable, there's something so purely funny about the situation. Their actions had been so innocent, and they'd led to a conversation about  _ that  _ (not that  _ that  _ was off the table; Betty just figures they would’ve had a discussion about what the hell happened before that would have even come up in conversation). So she bursts out laughing, the giggles escaping between her fingers, her eyes wild and apologetic. 

 

“I'm so sorry, Jug,” she tries to say, but the words are choppy from the laughter wracking her body.

 

He's silent at first, and Betty is afraid he's mad at her for laughing, but a smile creeps across his face. He closes the door with a shake of his head and walks around to the driver's side. 

 

“You and my dad are in cahoots to make me embarrassed today,” Jughead declares.

 

Betty bites down on a giggle and grabs his hand. “Sorry. It's just a little funny. And hey, if it makes you feel any better, if we had been at my place, Veronica would've probably had that same conversation with both of us… in my bedroom… while we were still in bed.”

 

Jughead seems to ponder that for a moment, then starts the truck. “You know, you're right. We may have dodged a bullet there.”

 

_ He may have, anyway,  _ Betty thinks twenty minutes later. Veronica is hovering over her, demanding every detail of her night, while Midge and Nancy giggle in the background. She’d given them the rundown on what Veronica called “Betty’s fairytale romance” - perfect girl meets brooding boy, a match made in heaven - so Betty was under some sort of manufactured pressure to make the story good. She thinks hard on what to say, her lip drawn between her teeth.

 

Finally, she decides. “I slept  _ really  _ well.”

 

\--

 

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of you who read this little miniseries and enjoyed it. It's made my first foray into this fandom very enjoyable :)


End file.
